A Man of No Country Read online

  ‘Do we know where he has gone?’ asked Clay. ‘Surely this huge fleet must have had a greater object in mind then Malta?’

  ‘I dare say they have,’ said Saumarez. He waved his drink in agitation. ‘They have headed east. That is all we have got out of the local fishermen, which is damned all use. No, we still have no real notion as to where he is bound. But it does, at least, show that I was wrong when I said they must have planned a descent on England or Ireland, and that you were right, sir.’ The captain held out his hand to his younger colleague again. ‘Well done, Clay. You’re a dashed smart cove.’

  The two captains sat back down together on the bench seat, with the hot sun shining down through the glass onto their dark blue coats. Clay felt the warmth soak into his injured shoulder and it helped to ease the slight pain. He had slipped on his way up the ship’s side, and in grabbing for the hand rope to stop himself from falling backwards, he had jarred the old wound. The thought of his narrow escape from an inglorious plunge down into the sea brought another image to mind.

  ‘Tell me, Sir James, have you ever witnessed the admiral as he comes aboard his flagship?’ he asked.

  ‘Can’t say as I have,’ said Saumarez, running a hand through his thin brown hair. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I was wondering how he makes shift to do so with only one arm.’

  ‘I dare say he is obliged to use a boatswain’s chair, just like the carpenter’s wife,’ said Saumarez. He smiled at the thought, and then tilted his head to whisper into Clay’s ear. ‘On the subject of the Chosen One, what do you notice different about his cabin?’

  Clay looked around him at the pale grey bulkheads, the red wood of the mahogany furniture and the black and white squares painted on the canvas cover that had been stretched out over the deck. It seemed strangely bare compared with his last visit, he thought, which brought to mind the portrait of his wife that dominated his own cabin.

  ‘Was there not a painting that once hung over there, by the quarter galley?’ he said eventually.

  ‘Bravo,’ smiled Saumarez. ‘It was a rather indifferent likeness of Lady Nelson, painted some time ago. Now I wonder what can have prompted its removal?’ He looked at Clay down his patrician nose and slowly winked. ‘And how long do you suppose it will be before the image of another man’s wife might take her place, eh, what?’

  Saumarez chuckled to himself for awhile before turning back towards Clay.

  ‘Mind, you would not want to cross her, you know,’ he said. ‘She is a comely enough piece, but I understand that she is not a lady to be trifled with.’

  ‘Lady Hamilton?’ said Clay, with a gulp. ‘Why do you say that, Sir James?’

  ‘She has quite a reputation for getting her revenge, you know,’ continued the Channel Islander. ‘Back when she was just plain Emma Hart, she was Sir Henry’s squeeze for a while. He was a dreadful, lewd old sod. On one occasion, he persuaded her to bathe naked in a hip bath full of Madeira, in front of the members of his local hunt. Then, Sir Henry had the wine rebottled and served up to them that night. His ghastly friends lapped it all up, but it was she that had the last laugh. Apparently when the butler had come to collect the Madeira before dinner, half a pint more came out of the bath than had gone in!’

  ‘I do apologise for the necessity of having to keep you gentlemen waiting,’ said Nelson, as he came into the cabin. ‘Although from the laughter, you do both seem to be having an agreeable time. We have just fallen in with a neutral merchantman, and I wanted to interview the master to see if he had any knowledge of the enemy.’

  ‘And did he, Sir Horatio?’ asked Clay, rising with Saumarez from their place by the window. The good eye that settled on Clay sparkled with excitement.

  ‘I am pleased to say he had,’ said Nelson. ‘He encountered the French two hundred miles east of here not five days ago, and they were still headed eastwards. It is confirmation of what we learnt from the fishermen. The trail grows warm at last.’

  ‘Then we must hasten to follow them, Sir Horatio,’ said Saumarez. He put down his glass. ‘A lead of five days! They may be far away now.

  ‘They might be, but only at the risk of becoming impossibly scattered,’ said Nelson. ‘A fleet of such an enormous size will take a deal of marshaling and will be obliged to sail very slowly. We shall catch them, of that I am certain, but only if we direct our search to the right place.’

  ‘Too true, Sir Horatio,’ said Saumarez. ‘Where do you hold the right place to be?’

  ‘The main fleet will sail, with all despatch, due east down the centre of the Mediterranean along thirty-five degrees of latitude towards Crete, which we will pass to the south, and if necessary onward till we reach Cyprus. That will cover the possibility that the enemy is bound for the Levant. If so we should be able to overhaul them before they reach their objective and bring them to battle at sea.’

  ‘Very well,’ said the Channel Islander. ‘And what if their objective should lie elsewhere?’

  ‘You gentlemen have command of my two fastest ships, so I shall send you out on either flank of the main body to cover those eventualities. Sir James, I want you to sail to the south. You are to scour the coast of Africa, looking for news of the enemy. Tunis and the Barbary coast and then Egypt.’ Saumarez nodded at this, and Nelson turned to Clay.

  ‘You have the swiftest ship of all of us, so I shall require you to be the busiest. Seek for the French towards the Adriatic, and the west coast of Greece. Stop every ship you encounter, neutral or otherwise. Someone will have seen them, or will know to where they are bound. We shall rejoin off the coast of either Crete or Cyprus.’

  ‘So we shall advance eastwards up the Mediterranean rather like a line of beaters, our quarry driven before us, eh?’ said Saumarez.

  ‘Very like, Sir James,’ said the admiral. ‘It will be just like a Norfolk duck shoot. I have your orders here, gentlemen. If there are no further questions, let our hunt commence.’

  *****

  It was close to sunset, and the fleet had come to the end of another day as it sailed in pursuit of their elusive enemy. A week had passed since the island of Malta had sunk below the horizon. The Orion had long since disappeared to search away to the south of the main body, and the Titan had vanished away to the north. That left the balance of the Nelson’s ships in a line stretched across the empty sea in the dying light of another day, as they sailed ever farther eastwards, and still there was no sign of the French.

  At the extreme end of the line was the seventy-four Minotaur. Her spreading sails cast a long shadow on the sea in front of her bow, like a black slick in the pearl blue water. High up in the foremast her two lookouts sat on the royal yard, one each side of the slender mast. They had been aloft for almost two hours now, and were lit by the last few rays of a sun that had already set for those on deck, a hundred and ninety feet below them.

  ‘Quite a sight, ain’t it, George,’ said the port side lookout. He indicated the long line of ships that stretched away from him across the sea with the jerk of a thumb.

  ‘That it is, Tobias,’ said the starboard side lookout. ‘All them warships a-gathered together. Now we just needs some bleeding Frogs to give a knock to. Been days searching for the buggers, without so much as a glimpse.’ He looked out to his side of the ship at the semi circle of empty sea, flat and calm seen from above, as it stretched to the lemon sky at the horizon. Then he swung himself around and looked astern of the Minotaur, towards the setting sun.

  ‘What you about, a peering over yonder?’ asked his colleague. ‘We’ve already searched that there patch of briny when we crossed it. It’s up ahead the Frogs will be.’ He pointed forward towards the gathering night in the east.

  ‘May be I just likes to see a bit of a sunset of an evening.’

  He continued to stare into the west for a while. The sky was ablaze with crimson and magenta as the sun sank below the horizon. Suddenly he stiffened for a moment, then stood upright on the yard and shaded his eyes with one hand.


  ‘George, clap an eye on this,’ he said. ‘Due astern, right in the eye of the sun. You see anything?’ George stood up on his side of the mast and looked where the sailor had indicated. The sun had almost disappeared now. Only a slither of molten gold still showed above the horizon for a moment, and then it was gone.

  ‘Can’t say as I clocked nothing, mate,’ he said. ‘What was it you reckon you saw?’

  ‘Perhaps the ghost of a topgallant sail,’ said Tobias. ‘A little square of pink, but I can’t see it no more. Should we report it?’

  ‘What! Turn the whole fleet around, cause you reckon you might have seen a slip of pink? That sod Wilson will have us swabbing out the heads for the rest of the bleeding week.’ George sat back down on his side of the mast and resumed his search of the sea in front of them. His fellow lookout continued to gaze into the west for a while, but nothing further appeared. After a few minutes he too resumed his place on the yard and the long line of British warships sailed on into the purple dusk.

  Behind the Minotaur, the sky grew progressively darker. The big warships had gone now. Their churned wakes had faded into the dark water, leaving the empty sea to the gathering summer night. No one was left to see the little point of light that appeared, at the very spot where Tobias thought he had seen his topsail. It was no bigger than a grain of silver dust in the night. A few moments later a second spec joined the first, as if a pair of tiny eyes was peering over the horizon. For a moment they burnt next to each other, before a third light appeared to one side of the first two, then a fourth. Soon more little lights joined them, the number swelling like stars in a darkening sky, till the horizon was ablaze with numberless tiny points as the huge French fleet slipped across the wake of Nelson’s ships and disappeared again into the dark.

  Chapter 11

  Vanished

  ‘Shift up there, Sean,’ grumbled Evans. ‘I need a bit more bleeding room on the bench than that.’

  ‘Will that be on account of the size of your fat arse?’ said O’Malley. He slid a fraction to one side and a tiny strip of elm opened up between the Irishman and Rosso. Evans took his chance and sat down in it, allowing gravity and his considerable weight to slide the two sailors further apart.

  ‘A bit snug, but it’ll do.’ He smiled in response to his two friends’ mutters of protest.

  ‘What’s with all that smiling, anyways?’ moaned the Irishman. ‘Haven’t you heard about the killer on the loose, at all? Anyone of us could be next to have his throat laid open.’

  ‘Quit yer bleating and tell me what you all reckon on this, then?’ Evans held out the fist that had “HOLD” tattooed on it over the mess table, and waited till he had everyone’s attention. Then he opened his hand, and a cascade of silver coins rang and clattered down onto the wood. Trevan stirred the pile of money with a finger from the far side of the table.

  ‘What is to be seen with all these coins, then?’ he said.

  ‘It’s my bleeding chink!’ he exclaimed. ‘Only also, it isn’t my chink as well, in a manner of speaking.’ The other messmates exchanged glances.

  ‘I am not sure I quite follow...’ began Sedgwick.

  ‘I ain’t said it straight,’ conceded Evans. ‘Look, this here is six crowns. You know, as was stolen from me. I have just now found them again. They’ve been put back in my purse.’

  ‘So after all that ballyhoo, are you saying your money was never fecking taken in the first place?’ exclaimed O’Malley. ‘Where did you have them stowed, then?’

  ‘No, Sean, you aren’t getting it,’ said Evans. ‘My money was definitely taken. I bleeding showed you all my empty purse. And now it’s come back.’

  ‘Don’t be daft, Sam!’ exclaimed the Irishman. ‘What manner of fecking cutpurse returns what he’s taken? Do you think he’s been after finding himself a conscience an’ all? No, it must have been there the whole time.’

  ‘Then how does you explain this?’ said Evans. He sat back and folded his arms. ‘This ain’t my money.’

  ‘You just said it fecking was,’ exclaimed O’Malley.

  ‘No, it’s the right amount, sure enough,’ said the Londoner. ‘It just ain’t the same bleeding coins as them as was taken. See, one of mine had been clipped. The edge was proper flat, yet none of these is like that. And my chink was all shiny, like. Look at the state of that coin there.’ He pointed to one that was brown and stained. ‘I tell you, them ain’t the same ones as was nicked.’

  ‘Does it really matter, Sam?’ asked Rosso. ‘At least you got your money back.’

  ‘An’ I’m right happy for that, Rosie, don’t get me wrong. But don’t it seem strange to you?’

  Sedgwick picked up the dirty coin and examined it. He scraped at the staining with his thumb nail and brown flakes dropped down onto the table. Then he moistened a finger and picked a little of the dirt up. He rubbed his finger tip against his thumb, and sniffed at the result.

  ‘I shouldn’t worry about this stain, Sam,’ he said, handing back the coin. ‘It will come off easy enough with a bit of spit. Dried blood always does.’

  ‘Dried blood!’ exclaimed Evans, He rubbed the coin on his sleeve. ‘How did that get there, then?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain, Sam,’ said Sedgwick. ‘But I can think of one way.’ The sailors gathered around the table looked uncomfortable as the same image came to all of them.

  ‘Might it be something to do with that mate of yours, Rosie?’ said O’Malley. ‘The poor fecker as had his throat slit an’ all?’

  ‘He wasn’t really a friend, Sean,’ said Rosso. ‘Just another hand from Bristol. I reckon you should just be grateful you got your money back, Sam. Have any of the others had their money back?’

  ‘Well that’s where it gets proper weird, Rosie,’ said Evans. ‘Same thing has happened to Stevenson as to me. He can’t remember what his coins was like, so he ain’t so sure if they are his or no. He’s just happy to have his chink back.’

  ‘As should you be, Sam,’ said Rosso. ‘I wouldn’t examine this given horse over closely.’ He turned his attention towards the coxswain.

  ‘Any news from back aft, Able?’ he asked. ‘Are we hot on the heels of them Frenchies yet?’

  ‘Afraid not, Rosie,’ said Sedgwick, still looking at the coins. ‘We’ve stopped no end of trading ships this last two weeks without so much as a sniff of the enemy. Whatever way they have gone, you may be sure it is not towards the Adriatic. Pipe has ordered the ship to head for the rendezvous with the rest of the fleet now.’

  ‘I could have told him that, fecking weeks ago,’ exclaimed the Irishman. ‘See, that Bonaparte he’s a right deep feller by all accounts. He will have shaped to head east from Malta just to throw us off the scent like, while he has been doubling backed on us. Mark my words, your man’s after slipping past Gibraltar as we speak. He will be headed for Ireland as quick as quick.’

  ‘But how is he planning to get past Hanging Jack and the fleet as is before Cadiz then?’ asked Rosso. ‘They’re still in his way.’

  ‘With the help of the Dons,’ said O’Malley. ‘They’ll all come a-rushing out as easy as kiss my hand.’

  ‘I am not sure that can be quite right, mate,’ said Trevan.

  ‘Then you answer me this,’ said the Irishman, drumming the table top with one of Evans’s coins. ‘Where the fecking hell are they?’

  *****

  John Grainger came off duty, and made his way down to the lower deck with the rest of the larboard watch. When he reached his mess table he flopped down on a stool and stretched out his long legs with a sigh of contentment. Then he eased his shoulders under his shirt and leant back against the side of the ship. The waves that rushed past on the far side of the oak skin made the wood thrum and vibrate on his tired muscles in a pleasing way. At the other end of the table sat Davis, one of the Titan’s older sailors. He had taken a piece of wood out of his kit bag and now worked on it, conjuring the shape of a whale from the twisted branch with a succession of tiny strok
es from his clasp knife.

  ‘You looks right weary there, John,’ said the older man. He stopped carving and polished the cut wood on the sleeve of his shirt for a moment.

  ‘I am that,’ Grainger replied. ‘Pipe is in a perishing hurry to find those French, and he’s after driving the barky hard. I must have reefed and shaken out the foretopsail a dozen times this watch. How is that carving of yours coming along?’ Davis pushed the piece of wood across the table for him to inspect.

  ‘It’s going to be a bull sperm whale, diving and a twisting,’ he explained. ‘Them two bits that stick out there will be the flukes. I don’t know what manner of lumber that be, with all them kinks and curves and the like, but it put me in mind of a whale when I saw it, washed up on the shore back in Naples.’

  ‘It’s an old piece of vine,’ said Grainger as he turned the carving in his hands. ‘They are often twisted so.’ He leant forward to pass it back and as he did so a silver disc on a chain swung out of his open shirt and caught the light.

  ‘What’s that you got around your neck, then?’ asked Davis, pointing with his knife. ‘Is that one of them lockets? You got some sweetheart you’re keeping quiet about?’

  ‘No, it’s just a little picture I was given as a child,’ said Grainger. He tucked the chain away again. ‘I shouldn’t really wear it by rights. The Koran doesn’t hold with images of folk or creatures, but I have had it since as early as I can recall. It might be my mother.

  ‘Don’t you remember your Ma, then?’

  ‘Not really. Nor my father, neither. They died that long ago they both seem lost, in a fog like.’

  ‘Maybe that’s for the best. I remember my Pa right enough, and a proper evil bastard he was too,’ said Davis. ‘That’ll be why I ran off to sea. I got sick of all his beatings.’ He picked up the piece of wood and worked on it a little more. Then he paused as another thought came to him. ‘So is all images of life a blasphemy for your Turk?’ he asked. ‘What about my whale?’